Renegade
by celtic goddess of fertility
Summary: When a renegade elf has no other choice than to journey through the Mines of Moria with the Fellowship, she proves valuable, and sees the rest of their trek through with them voluntarily. But who exactly is she?
1. Oh Mama, I'm in fear for my Life

**Disclaimer: I own squat.**

I will never forget the first moment I saw them, tramping through the woods that I had called home for many a long year. They consisted of the strangest mix of races I had ever seen together. Two men, an elf, a dwarf, a wizard by the looks of it, and four little hobbits, trudging along on some weary path to a destination that none of them saw.

I decided to follow them, if only to escape the sheer boredom that was all that my life had produced in a long time. I had no idea, at the time, how the consequences of this decision would play out.

My strong, elfish legs pushed me on; my far-seeing, elfish eyes kept them always near. I began to know them, and to name them according to my subtle observations.

There were the little ones, four hobbits. One looked as if he was being crushed under some enormous weight that he had no control over, another stayed by the first's side like an anxious dog, eager to please it's master, and the other two walked freely, almost completely unaffected by the weight that crushed the first. I called them Squash, Pup, and the Careless, respectively.

Of the two men, one had red hair and a powerful, confident gait. The other had dark hair and dark eyes, and his stride was subtler and slinkier, but stronger. I called them Prince and Fox, respectively.

The wizard was clad entirely in gray, and I was not so closed off to the world to not know of his reputation as Gandalf the Gray.

The elf was … an elf. He was beautiful, like we all are, and graceful. He probably had a nice singing voice and everything. I just called him Elf.

The dwarf was the rogue, the piece of the puzzle that I just could not fit with the rest, no matter how hard I struggled with him. Dwarves are generally selfish creatures from my few experiences with them, and I could not imagine what cause would move him to travel with his strange fellows. So I called him Rogue.

I knew that they were heading for either Moria or the mountain pass, and that my entertainment, or rather distraction, would soon run its course whichever way they took. Yet I watched them keenly still as they descended into the valley with the lake and the door. I watched keenly as Gandalf tried to control the door. I watched keenly as one of the Careless skipped rocks over the surface of the deadly black water. I watched keenly as the monster emerged to snatch the one I named Squash, and I made another life-altering decision.

My legs bunched up beneath me and then uncoiled like a spring, releasing me from gravity's hold for a few seconds and propelling me down towards the lake. To this day, I'm not sure what unseen force made me do it. It may have been the hand of Fate, if you believe in that sort of thing. It may have been my intuition, telling me that this tiny person was too essential to die, or it may have just been my unwillingness to let a creature die and know that I could have saved it. Whatever the reason, I leaped straight at the monster, and dodged through its tentacles, using my uncanny elfish agility to push off of the flailing limbs and thrust myself closer to the hobbit.

I reached him, curling my body around his protectively, and we fell to the water. His arms wrapped around my neck, freeing my own arms, and I swam as hard as I could. We were hauled from the water by Fox, who threw us into the now-open cave. The hobbit's arms were still strangling my neck.

I pried him from me as the entrance collapsed behind us. Panic seized me. I was trapped with them, no other choice than to traverse through these miserable mines with these bizarre people. Mistrust and cynicism about their actions replaced the brief panic.

A blue light that would have barely impacted any eye in regular daylight seared my vision.

"By Gods, it's a woman," a voice exclaimed.

"An elf woman," another voice, a voice with silky smooth harmonics, a voice that I instinctively hated, added.

It was an unfair, illogical hate, but a hate nonetheless. The very elfish ring in his voice surfaced painful memories. I could hear my father speaking in a voice as calm as a lazy summer afternoon, delivering an earth-shattering sentence. I could hear the rest of them, murmuring in their perfect voices, whispering about me as I walked through those damned gates for the last time.

My reverie was interrupted by strangled sobs. The dwarf was coiled on the floor, his head in his hands. The stench of old, dead bodies finally broke through the barrier of my nose and met my brain. I gagged.

"It makes no matter what she is. She is stuck with us," Gandalf sighed, and I wasn't sure if it was because he didn't want me along, or if he didn't want to subject me to whatever was going on. "Do you have a name, my dear?"

My voice was rough when I spoke, "Laira." Not my real name, but one that would suffice.

"I am Gandalf, and I am thankful that we were fortunate enough to have such an impassioned stalker. You saved this little one's life."

"Yes, thank you," Squash looked up at me, and his big, blue eyes almost drowned me. I nodded bashfully at him and Gandalf.

"Well, we must push on. No sense in waiting," Gandalf took the lead. The dwarf picked himself up off the ground sorrowfully; his head hung low on his stout neck.

I fell into step next to Fox, who introduced himself as Aragorn and named off the rest of them, until Prince approached us after not even twenty steps.

"Hello, m'lady." His stiff, so obviously royal attitude had me churning in my moccasins, but I smiled politely. "I am Boromir of Gondor and am pleased to make your acquaintance." He took my hand and kissed it.

It was a strange time for formalities, but then again I could find nothing with this situation that wasn't strange.


	2. The Jig is Up

**Disclaimer: I own squat.**

"And at this time of year, too! What I wouldn't give for a good ol' pint of Butterbur's beer," Pippin sighed wistfully, his tiny hand resting in mine as I helped him over a rougher patch of ground. His companion Merry smirked at him, and reached over and smacked his forehead.

"No use dreamin' of what you can't have," he laughed. The little sound resonated throughout the stone hallway, bouncing off the somber mortar in search of a happier place. It was so out of place, I almost laughed, which really would have been a shock.

Not that I never laugh, but recent conversations with this curious fellowship have left me cross.

"Where do you hail from?" Legolas had approached me, smiling as enticingly as a shark.

"Here and there," I had replied, not eager to talk.

"Do you call one of the great civilizations your home? Rivendell or Lothlorien, perhaps?"

"No," I had snapped. My tone, instead of having the desired effect of deterring him, had intrigued him.

"Your name is Laira, correct? Laira what?" I had seen the pieces of the puzzle clicking together behind his eyes.

"Not important," I had said hastily, knowing that he had caught on to something. Aragorn had interrupted us then, as curious as the elf.

"Do you know of Lady Arwen?"

I had shaken my head, not wanting to open my mouth again.

"Not even her name?"

I had considered his question for a moment, predicting his different responses to mine, and basing mine off the predictions. I had felt it safest to just shake my head again.

And now they were conferring with each other and Boromir, far behind the rest of us, barely even outlined by the blue glow of Gandalf's lantern. And these two hobbits were distracting me so much that I could not hear a word.

Were they deciding my fate, based solely on the reason that they didn't know who exactly I was? Were they going to kill me for it, for endangering their little mission with my enigma? I wouldn't put it past the elf, but the men seemed so level-headed, so fair. I avoided them all until we stopped for a short rest.

Legolas folded on the ground next to me, and spoke in Elvish.

"_Aragorn has bid me to find out more about you,"_ he said, almost apologetically.

"Why?" I asked, in the vernacular. The others stared up at us.

"_The others don't need to know of this."_

"If you think I am a threat, then shouldn't they know of the danger also?

"_I just ask to know who you are," _he said, keeping his calm.

"I just ask to make it out of this God-forsaken hell-hole alive! You think I want to be here? You think I wanted to risk my life, which I hold in high regards, by the way, for this munchkin and the rest of you? Just lead me out of here, don't tell me anything important, and you'll never see my again! Is that too much to ask?" I exploded, the words flooding over the levee of my self-control, and my vision started to blur.

"Yes," Boromir stepped in, his hand orbiting to the hilt of his sword, "This fellowship is on a mission much too important to be jeopardized in any unnecessary ways."

"If it's a fight you want, it's a fight you'll get," I hissed, my hands itching to grab the twin scimitars strapped across my back. The cloud in my vision grew more distinctly red. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the four hobbits, peeking out from behind Gandalf, staring at me fearfully. The sight of their cowering eyes took my heart right out of this fight, but fight I would, if I had to. But I didn't.

The most unlikely of rescuers stepped in front of me, his long-fingered hands held out in peace. "I do not think she is of any harm to us," Legolas said softly, glancing imploringly at Gandalf.

"Nor do I," Gandalf relaxed his sentry on the hobbits, walking to stand next to Legolas.

This was … unexpected. If anything, I would have thought that the elf would have delivered the final blow, but he was protecting me, protecting my life. Based on my past experiences, he was acting very un-elvish.

"She could be a spy!" Boromir practically screamed in outrage.

"She is one lonely elf," Gandalf said, "and I do emphasize the word _lonely_." I lifted my eyes from where they had been studying the uneven pattern of the stone to stare at Gandalf's back. "She lives alone in the woods, and never comes into contact with any other life, elves, men, or orcs."

"That's all the more reason for me to believe her a spy!" Boromir pressed.

"She is not so mysterious, if you think on it," Gandalf said airily, his tone and the lift of his eyebrow suggesting that he knew that Boromir had not thought on it at all.

"How do you suppose?" Aragorn, having remained silent throughout my small trial, asked.

Gandalf beckoned me to his side, and presented me with his hand. "Her hair. Have you ever seen an elf with short hair?" His comment had me running my fingers through my sheared locks, and the trip didn't take them long from start to finish.

"It's easiest to care for short," I explained with a shrug.

"Not exactly an elvish philosophy," Gandalf nodded, "She doesn't live with other elves, she doesn't know of other elves …"

"And what?" Boromir grunted, "What does this mean? That she's some freak hermit elf? All the easier to suspect her."

"Not a hermit," Legolas piped up, "Am I right in assuming that you do not live like this voluntarily?" I nodded curtly at him. "Are you thinking renegade, Gandalf?"

"That would also explain the lack of control over her temper that elves usually learn young and her unprompted spite towards you and all other things elvish," Gandalf concluded.

"It's not unprompted," I smirked. Not the wisest thing I could have done, given the circumstances.

"This just keeps getting better!" Boromir yelled angrily, "Now, she has a motive for being against us."

"No, I don't think so," Gandalf reprimanded quietly with a small smile on his face, turning his back on us and heading down a passage, "If Sauron had sent a spy to infiltrate this fellowship, he surely would have chosen a better one!"


	3. Mama, Don't Let Him Take Me

**Disclaimer: I own squat.**

Gandalf had to know.

It was the only reason I could come up with for his defense of me earlier. He had to know who I am.

The fellowship was silent after my small trial, and I walked briskly next to Gandalf, keeping my head down. And though I could not see them, I could feel Boromir's eyes boring into my back, willing me dead. He had been so nice, formal, but nice, and I ruined it. Not even the elf would look at me now. Not that it bothered me, but before, he couldn't tear his eyes from me.

We stopped for sleep, our second night in this awful place. I curled my arms around my legs, deciding that sleep was unnecessary while there was unabashed hatred towards me lingering in Boromir's eyes.

My chin rested lightly on my knees, my eyes still wide, but unseeing, when Sam's voice broke through the gloom. "Has anyone seen my water canteen? I swore I had it not an hour ago."

There was a quiet murmur of no's, and the incident was almost forgotten until Boromir spoke up.

"Well, elf, have you seen his water?"

I blinked, coming back to the present to see Boromir's face close to mine. I scooted away and shook my head.

"Sure you haven't?" he pressed, an eagerness in his eyes that had me up on my feet and moving farther away.

"Positive," I replied wearily.

"I find that hard to believe," Boromir continued, but he was interrupted before he could finish his thought.

"Give it a rest, Boromir," Legolas said, his voice echoing sheer boredom, yet laced with a slight menace. I gaped at him for a moment.

"I will not stand for this," Boromir announced loudly, drawing his sword.

"She is of no harm to us; Gandalf said so himself!" Legolas erupted, getting to his feet also.

Aragorn joined Boromir, and for a second I thought they were in agreement about me, but Aragorn laid a restraining hand on Boromir's shoulder.

"Peace," he whispered. Boromir shook his head angrily.

"Then she is your responsibility, elf. Watch her," he snarled, dropping to the ground and sprawling out. Legolas nodded and smiled at me a little bit, a smile full of trust, and his seeming compassion towards me astounded me yet again.

After sleep, for there was no plausible morning here, we went on our way, coming to and passing through a small arch, and suddenly the air around us was chillier. I stared above me, searching for a ceiling in the gloom and coming away empty-handed. Pillars stretched in all directions around us. Audible gasps echoed from every mouth, including my own.

"Behold, the great realm and Dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf," Gandalf announced. Gimli's eyes were the widest as he peered around him, and I felt a shock of pity for him, not the first, and certainly not the last. We continued through the great hall. The wide, open space made me uncomfortable and squirmy, and I started crouching as I walked, trying to make myself a smaller target for whatever could be hidden here.

Glancing around, I noticed only Aragorn and Frodo experiencing the same effects. Suddenly, Gimli yelped, startling me into an upright position, and he darted through a door. We rushed after him, uneager to have him out of sight.

As we entered the room, the stench of death grew to its strongest yet. I blanched. Gimli was kneeling by a tomb, upon which a single shaft of sunlight had fallen, crying and muttering dwarfish words. Gandalf patted his back once, and then retrieved a dusty volume from the arms of a corpse.

The smell induced a headache, and I squished my eyes together and backed into a wall, ignoring the rest of the Fellowship until the ache went away. I still heard Gandalf murmuring, Gimli sobbing, and, a few moments later, a clangor. My head whipped up.

Legolas was staring at me again, so I directed my question only to him, "What the hell was that?"

Gandalf started berating Pippin, but his reprimand was cut short by a muffled booming. In the blink of an eye, Boromir bounded to the door, throwing it shut. Legolas's and Aragorn's bows were out and ready and the hobbits huddled around Gandalf, each sporting a tiny dagger. Gimli leaped onto the tomb, brandishing his axe. I gaped at them all.

"Now would be the perfect time to use those swords of yours, elf!" Boromir called out to me. Confusion reigned over my mind, encouraged by the headache, and I dazedly drew my scimitars from their sheaths and held them clumsily.

"By Gods, does she even know how to use them?" Boromir muttered incredulously, "Was I that duped earlier?"

I ignored his jibes. Pounding rattled the door, and Legolas let an arrow fly. A shrill cry was his only satisfaction. Aragorn's soon followed, and then the door was broken down and the battle begun.

An orc rushed me, and I stuck out one of my scimitars, my eyes closed. I heard the gurgle as the idiot ran onto it, and kept my eyes screwed tightly shut. One little slip of control was all that was needed to massacre everyone in this room, friend and foe alike. I resisted the temptation that was rising through me like tornado, sucking me in. The sounds of fighting and the body odor of orc, so close to me, were like a cool, tasty beer resting tantalizingly an arm's length away from a recovering alcoholic during a hot summer day, a siren call that was almost impossible to resist.

A shiver ran the length of my body, and I backed myself into a corner, fighting only those who came at me. The kills were as quick and clean as I could make them. I was in complete control, and vowed to myself that I would stay that way, unless circumstances were completely hopeless. When that happened, I was taking as many of them as I could with me.


	4. Never More to Go Astray

**Disclaimer: I own squat.**

In my fight for control, I was completely self-enveloped. So I didn't see as Frodo darted through the legs of the troll and behind a pillar, playing a deadly game of hide-and-seek with it. I only saw Aragorn leaping towards the troll across the line of my vision, screaming like a madman. Too late, the anguished madman reached Frodo as the spear stabbed into him.

Time stopped. All around me, the Fellowship stared at the little body, surely dead, in astonishment. Then, as quickly as it had stopped, time began again, with a greater ferocity. Pippin and Merry dived onto the troll's back, stabbing at it. Legolas zinged arrows away faster than I could see. Boromir slashed through orcs three at a time, and Gimli swung his axe around him in a little flurry of death. Sam, the only one not having recovered from the stitch in time like everyone else, looked as if the sun had just blacked out in the middle of the day. And Aragorn kneeled by Frodo a second longer, before rising with a greater determination than ever.

Seconds later, the battle was over. The troll and the multitude of orcs lay around us, all dead. We all orbited within ten feet of Frodo, faces blank. Legolas came over to me slowly, laying a hand on my shoulder. I didn't have the heart to shake it off. Gandalf turned away from his study of the small body smiling. I glared at him at first, wondering what macabre thoughts he could he thinking.

And then Frodo coughed, spluttered, and sat up. Relief spread through all our faces, a unanimous sigh rising from our mouths. Sam rushed Frodo for a hug.

"You should be dead," Aragorn gasped in wonder. Frodo slid his shirt down his shoulder, revealing a glimmer of silver, a mithril chain shirt. From the hall outside this little death chamber, the sounds of shuffling feet grew louder. The moment of relief swirled away like a leaf in a flood, as elusive as a dream. Gandalf led the way out the back door, leading us through another pillared hall.

Orcs were quick on our feet, and soon they were pouring in from every crevice of the hall, from the sides, the back, the floor, the ceiling. They surrounded us, jeering at our fear, and the hopelessness that I had resolved myself to moments ago became evident in everyone's faces. I let the red cloud, always at the back of my vision, start swirling behind my eyes.

For a moment, we all stood still, sitting in the eye of storm and waiting for the blow-out. Suddenly, fire pierced through an opening at the end of the hall with an explosion. Drums rolled louder than ever, and the orcs, not jeering any longer, turned tail and fled. We were left alone in the hall, the emptiness more menacing than the orcs. We could fight orcs.

We stared at Gandalf, looking for any direction.

"It's a Balrog, a demon of the ancient world," he said, the intonation of his voice echoing like a coffin lid slammed shut. "Run."

We took off like an arrow, running as one unit. Gandalf steered us through a small door, leading to a brightly lit cavern full of perilous-looking, narrow steps with long drops on either side. We darted down the stairs, and Boromir in his haste almost launched himself off the edge as the steps broke off, but I grabbed his chest, pulling him to safety. He refused to acknowledge me. Arrows clattered off the stone stairs, and Legolas picked off the snipers one by one. We dashed down the stairs, nothing beneath us but fire, our steps sure and light. Where there were gaps in the stairs, we jumped, hauling each other in. Finally, after more stairs than I care to remember, we came down upon a bride, spanning a large, dark crevice. We paused, but Gandalf pushed us on.

The bridge was easily the most terrifying part of the journey, but possibly because I am looking at in retrospect. We all made it across safely, without much trouble. I was the first one out, and grey daylight was there to receive me. I turned, reveling in the light, but no one was behind me to share in my joy. I dove back into the tunnel, fear for my companions spreading through me like a wildfire.

Sure enough, Gandalf stood alone on the bridge, facing a giant, fiery being, straight from the pits of hell. His sword and staff were held together in his hands, his mouth open with a warning for the Balrog. I didn't hear his words, though I'm sure they were loud. I saw nothing now but Gandalf, holding a lone defense against Hell, and I sprinted for him, trying desperately to rescue him before the demon could incinerate him. Aragorn reached out to stop me, missed me by a centimeter.

The sword and staff came down with a boom, cracking the bridge in half. I almost fell off, but clung to the top. Gandalf bowed his head, and then turned to us, a relieved smile on his face.

But I saw it first, and the horror of it had me on my feet, sprinting once more towards Gandalf. The fiery line of the Balrog's whip had found a hold around Gandalf's ankle, and his feet were ripped out from beneath him as I lurched back to my feet.

I lunged frantically, knowing that Gandalf's life was oh-so-much more important than mine, and saw, mere feet from my outstretched arms, the look of defeat and acceptance in his eyes as his hands slipped from the edge of the bridge, urging us with his last breath to escape. I will never forget that look, I think, as long as my elfish life shall last. I wish that the others had seen it, that they could understand like I can. I cannot help but feel pain in seeing his last face in my memories again, but there is peace there for me as there was for him. I can only hope that when I die, I will have the strength and courage to see my last scene with the same look in my eyes.

The next thing I knew, arms picked me up off the bridge, carrying me out into the daylight again. The hobbits were huddled together, sobbing fitfully. Boromir sat with them, comforting them. Gimli stood with head bowed, leaning on his axe. Aragorn searched the rocky hillside for God-knows-what, maybe for something to block the pain. That meant that the arms that had me wrapped up were Legolas's, and I pulled away from him. He let me go, and I took off running for the surrounding field, trying to outrun the tears that were on their way.

Minutes later, how many I have no idea, the Fellowship came upon me huddled in the grass, crying silently. Boromir, a hobbit on his back, held his hand out to me, and I accepted it, rising to my feet and sniffling pitifully. At the time, I could not escape Gandalf's eyes, and then they had not the power of comfort that came with my acceptance. Then, I could only think of how I had failed him. The hobbit on his back, Sam, patted my shoulder comfortingly. I smiled weakly at him.

"We're going to Lothlorien," Sam said quietly, "and we would like it very much if you would come with." Boromir nodded with Sam's words, and I knew that I had won them all over.

I covered his hand with mine and smiled again, "Thank you, Sam, but I can't."

"Sure you can," Frodo said, hopping off of Aragorn's back to take my free hand, "We, all of us, we want you to travel with us to the end of our journey."

They wanted to trust me, maybe to fill the hole that Gandalf had left in their hearts. But I couldn't, and I insisted that to them.

"You have to!" Frodo persisted fiercely, "We need someone else."

"Not me," I tried to tell him.

"Yes, you," Legolas interrupted, "You know how to fight, and you've already proven that you would risk your life for this Fellowship without question."

I shook my head resolutely.

"Please," Frodo begged, setting his blue eyes on me, "You don't understand." He reached into his shirt, drawing out a chain, "This is our mission. It is the Great Ring of Power, the One. I have to go to Mordor, to destroy it in the fires of Mount Doom before Sauron can reclaim his former power." Frodo paused, his manipulative skills functioning perfectly, letting the revelation sink in. "Please, help me," he whispered.

My surprise was so great it could not manifest itself in any physical way. Perfectly still, my face perfectly composed, I digested. Never in my wildest dreams would I have guessed the destination of this Fellowship. The world hung in the balance now, and I could turn my back on it, like it had on me, like I had on it so many times before, or I could join them. Save the world. Maybe even save myself. What choice did I have?

"Ok," I choked, "I'm in."

"To Lothlorien," Aragorn said, eager to be out of the open. They streamed past me as Aragorn's words brought me back to reality. Legolas pulled on my arm, beckoning me forward.

"Wait!" I called, "I can't go."

"Why not?" Legolas pulled my arm and Frodo turned his big, spotlight eyes on me again.

"Don't look at me like that, Frodo," I warned, "There's nothing I can do. Unless you want me dead within the hour, I cannot go with you into Lothlorien." I turned to Leoglas and said, "You and … you were right about me. Earlier, in the mines."

"You have been exiled," Legolas stated flatly. There was a burning in his eyes that I didn't understand, and it frightened me, and all I could do was nod. The burning intensified; I had to look away. Aragorn spoke quickly.

"We will come out on the river Anduin where it flows near Lothlorien," he explained.

"I know the place," I replied, "In a few days, then?"

"A few days," Aragorn assured me. We parted ways, I to skirt around the woods while they entered and sought help from the elves that lived there. As I walked alone along the fringe of trees, anticipation rumbled in me, a mix of fear for what was coming and excitement for what I was now a part of.


	5. Oh Mama, I Can Hear Your Crying

**Disclaimer: I own squat.**

I skirted around the edge of the woods, taking my sweet time. I didn't try to conceal myself even though I knew I was being watched, for I also knew exactly where the elves' territory began, having sat outside it for many lonely nights, and I walked just along it, never crossing it and never giving them reason to object to me being there.

It took me about a week to get to the river, but I was never rushed. I was sure my companions would spend more time than was needed or necessary in the woods, for who couldn't? I remember the place faintly, having been very small the only time my father had taken me there, but the dim memories were glorious, filled with towering trees with houses clinging to their bark, a million elfish voices singing to the stars.

Though I knew my companions needed the rest and that they were recovering from their grief and malnutrition, I couldn't help but spit at the woods a few times. My hatred may have softened for one elf, but the race as a whole still disgusted me.

So, sitting in wait on the banks of Anduin, letting the water swirl over my toes, I lost myself to elfish dream.

It is not the same as human dream, or so I've been told. Human dreams occur only during sleep and are mostly figments of the imagination manifested into semiconscious thought that can be broken out of at the tiniest whisper and never re-entered again. My dreams vault me back into my memories at my will, and I relive them. The painful ones I tend to avoid, but I was drawn to them now, and it seemed appropriate to relive them. Everything around me was set in the backdrop; I was only barely aware of where I was, just enough to alert myself if there was danger.

My first consciousness was not a pleasant one. All around me there was sticky, warm, choking ooze. I fought to escape it. The mother's womb is supposed to feel safe, but this was only suffocating. I thrashed about until she let me go into the light.

It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I was blinded, amazed, cold, free. The light pouring down enveloped me like the warm ooze of the womb never could. It was bright red. There were noises in the background, shouts, cries, a yelp, not the usual when welcoming a newborn to the world. Little hands, my sister's, carried me away from the bright chamber where my mother lay dying at my expense.

My father came to see my shortly, clutching me to his chest like one last shred of his broken wife. I had broken her. It was almost a shock he didn't die of grief, but my father was a strong man. My weak head rolled about on my shoulders, my useless arms trying to push my father's grip away. It was uncomfortable. He got the message and set me down again where I could marvel at the crimson that was my world. There was a look in his eyes as he laid me down, a look I see every time I think of him. It was regret.

The years flew by after that. I was a spritely elf and more confrontational than most. I had an older sister and two older brothers and my father. My father was a stern, uncompromising elf, and I thought at times he loved his responsibilities more than he loved me. I don't think he ever quite forgave me. I never forgave myself. My sister I loved the most, and the fact that I have not seen her since my exile pains me more than anything. I was not close with my brothers at all, for they were away for most of my childhood.

Every day I would dash through the gardens of our home, laughing at everything that moved. Then one day as I wound through the trees, my disease evidenced itself. It was about ten human years after my birth, and I was still very young. One of my brothers had come to summon me, and when I would not budge from the gardens, he advanced with the intention of forcing me with him. He lightly slapped the side of my head, and I exploded.

Unstoppable rage pounded through me, and the crimson light that was there during my birth replaced everything in my sight. I grabbed his fingers where they rested for a half-second against my head as he slapped me and broke them swiftly. I continued to pummel at him with my tiny fists until our father showed up. He arrived and upon seeing me shivering with rage and my brother ten feet away, his blackening eyes wide with fear, swooped me into his arms, shoving my face near a pond.

The face that stared back at me was my own, it had to be. Her long, black hair was dangling towards the water, and in her rage-twisted face I could pick out my own features. My father's arms were around the girl in the water. But her eyes were scarlet.

I gasped, struggling against my father's grip.

"Let me go!" I shrieked, desperate to escape the stare of the pond girl.

"She's a monster," I heard my brother breath.

"No!" my father yelled at him in denial, "She is not lost!"

The red receded, leaving the once-vivid garden as pallid as my father's face. He set me down on the ground and pulled me into a hug, weeping into my hair. The next few years were almost as bad as the exile. All of my time was spent on learning self-control. There were many lapses, and many people were hurt, mostly my father or brothers or tutors or doctors. I hated the attention, all I wanted to do was play in the garden all day long. Everyone seemed to hate me; all the elves avoided me like death, which is not a bad analogy.

Elves came from far and wide to see me, the freak elf. They talked of how I could be so advantageous to an army when I was older, or how I could inspire many a song. Mostly, they annoyed me. The doctors were the worst. They prodded me and questioned me and tried intentionally to provoke my anger. Just seeing them provoked my anger. And then the diagnosis.

I was sitting in my father's house, my sister was braiding my hair, when the doctors arrived. They sat me and my father down and explained my problem.

Bloodwrath, they called it, an uncontrollable rage. When I reached maturity, they said, it would only come during fighting, but as a youngster, until I learned self-control, anything that pissed me off could set it off. While afflicted, I was berserk, practically unstoppable. I could see my father's spirit crumbling on his face. I ran away for the first time that night.

The freedom of my run calmed me, and the hatred began. It started out for the doctors because they called me disease-ridden, a monster, and then my father because he didn't love me in spite of the fact. I had wished that they would never come after me, but they did.

My father lectured me after that, reminded me time and again of the seriousness of my disease and how I needed to control it. I embraced his words and threw myself into sorting out my own mind, meditating and meeting with a spiritual guru often. I never ran in the garden again.

I made my first friend outside of the family at age twenty, still a young age, not even at puberty yet. The equivalent of a human my age was probably about seven. His name was Ulil, and he lived down the road. He had beautiful golden hair unlike any in my family. We frolicked together unbeknownst to our parents, for who would let their child play with a berserker? When they eventually found out and forbade us to play, my bloodwrath was the worst it had ever been, and my father's only choice was to let us be together.

Ulil was never scared of me. He was the gentlest, most level-headed elf in the world, the only one that could have withstood me during those whirlwind years. He had a calming effect on me that none other did. We had even decided that we would be married, whatever that meant, when we were old enough. He gave me a ring to hold my promise. I wish I had kept it.

We were inseparable, me and Ulil. My self-control grew stronger, and I lost my temper less and less often. My father started to worry about other things.

Ulil and I ran away together one day, after my father had sent me into a rage.

"Uli!" I called to his window. The earth was black.

He peeked his golden head through the window and grinned at me, taking one last look at his room before leaping down to join me.

"I shouldn't indulge you like this," he pondered as we fled.

"Yes, you should, or I'll go berserk on you!" I joked, pushing him lightly.

"That's not funny," he said, but a smile hovered on his lips. I should have captured that smile and never let it leave my sight again. We walked to a gorge, our favorite spot. The starlight made the land look dusty and pale. We flopped onto our backs and gazed up at them, a private showing.

"We should go back," Ulil said after a while.

"Yeah," I scoffed laughingly.

"Really," Ulil turned on his side to peer at me, "Your father is probably very worried."

"My father," I spit the word, "is probably relieved."

"Don't say that," Ulil sighed, "He loves you."

"No, he doesn't," I shook my head and laughed a little, trying to act like I didn't care when it was tearing me up inside.

"Of course he does," Ulil urged, "and we should go back."

"What if I never want to go back?!" I challenged, rising to my feet. Ulil followed suit.

"Don't be ridiculous. You have to."

"I don't _have_ to do anything." My voice raised a few decibels, "There's nothing there for me there except a loveless father and a life of restraint."

"Restraint is what you need," Ulil whispered. I turned to glare at him. He didn't flinch away, for he knew there was no danger. I would never hurt him.

But, suddenly, thoughts rushed into my head. Why was Uli acting this way, trying to get me to go back to the place I hated? Was he just a pawn employed by my father to chain me here?

"I have to go," I said quickly, turning to run from him.

"Wait!" he called, lurching for my arm. I threw it at him, knocking him out. I gasped at his body for a few seconds, and then sprinted back home for help.

"Laira?" I shoved away with a start. Legolas was standing over me, clothed in green. The others were filed behind him. "Are you alright? You were thrashing about. I thought you were going to hurt yourself."

"I'm fine," I breathed heavily, shaking the dream from my head. Ulil;s broken body, broken like my mother's, was one thing I didn't want to think about anymore.

**A/N - I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who has read this and reviewed it. It's very much appreciated :) **


	6. Get Him Dead or Alive

**Disclaimer: I own squat.**

I must admit, my new companions where in a much-improved shape then they had been on our departure. Their bodies, rested; their eyes, brighter; their hearts, at least scabbed over.

Someone had been thoughtful enough to steal me a dark green cloak so that I now matched them, despite my avoidance of all things Lothlorien-ish. I also had the inescapable privilege to listen to the hobbits' ceaseless chatter about the wonder of the elfish kingdom, and the beauty of its mistress, for the next two hours on the canoes until we reached a lake. Even Gimli was enchanted. Boromir was the only one that was not better, in fact he seemed worst. He was quiet, withdrawn, the whole trip.

The River Anduin was calm, rippling ever so slightly as we glided with it, and I offered to paddle, anticipating some hard work to keep my mind from listening too intently to the hobbits, but all I really had to do was steer, and that gave me plenty of time to wonder. Wonder at how long it would take someone to ask.

One hour, and thirty-seven minutes was all that their tortured curiosities could handle. Aragorn, Merry, and Pippin were in my boat, and brazen Pippin, of course, finally asked. And I could not have asked for a more delicate wording from the hilarious hobbit.

"So Laira, what in the world could have possibly happened for them to kick a gem such as yourself out?" he asked, his little face resting on his fists.

"Well," I began, glancing at Aragorn to see a tiny smile on his face, "there was an accident."

"Oh, I've had plenny o' those before, and I never got kicked outta nowhere," Pippin interrupted. "Why, remember at ol' Bilbo's party when we set those fireworks off, Merry? That was a blast. I thought for sure Gandalf was gonna have our behinds on a roasting stick for that one!" Merry chuckled and nodded.

"Yeah, well, this was a little worse than fireworks," I sighed.

"What happened?" Aragorn pressed gently.

I shook my head, unwilling to delve into my past again. Aragorn accepted my silence with his own.

When we landed on shore to await the cover of nightfall for our lake crossing, there was an edginess in the air that had been absent on the River. Legolas made note of it to Aragorn, who agreed that these could be dangerous parts. I stayed with the hobbits and the canoes as the other four went to investigate the area. We unpacked everything, chatting pleasantly, until Legolas came bounding back into camp, his face drawn with fear.

"Orcs on the western side," he reported, "We were under the impression that they only patrolled the eastern shore."

"Any idea why?" I asked, but I already knew the answer, and all Legolas had to do was glance at Frodo to confirm it. "What're we going to do?"

"I don't know," Legolas said softly. The hobbits stared at one another silently, and Aragorn, Boromir, and Gimli all trickled back into camp with the same report. Boromir's face was especially strained, his eyes crazy with worry.

"Prepare to run," Aragorn advised, "We should be able to escape them." The unpacking we had just done was for naught, and we hustled to pack again. In the confusion, Frodo wandered off.

Merry was the first to notice. "Where's Frodo?" Silence descended.

"Where's Boromir?" I added quietly. Aragorn dropped his face in his hands quickly, a rare show of stress, and then he bolted into the woods without a word. I gaped at Legolas, all of us unsure of what to do. He shrugged and turned to follow Aragorn, telling the other hobbits to stay by the boats.

We ran through the woods, outrunning Gimli's short legs by a mile, so I stopped Legolas to let Gimli catch up. And also to warn him.

"When the fighting starts, stay as far away as you can from me. I … I might not be able to tell friend from foe."

Legolas's eyebrows creased slightly in confusion, but he nodded as Gimli passed us by, calling something that sounded like "Wussies!" We followed, of course passing him up again in a few short seconds.

The three of us burst upon the scene like a missile from a trebuchet, Aragorn surrounded by what seemed a million orcs, and Frodo scrambling away into the woods. There was no steady decline into Bloodwrath; it hit me with all the instantaneity of a lightning bolt.

My fingers tingled, melding themselves with the hilts of my twin scimitars. My vision, scarlet, filled with orc. My whole body shook, the want, the need for blood controlling all. It was no longer me twirling the deadly sharp blades around, not me slashing the guts of every living thing in sight. It was the other, the monster inside. The monster I just couldn't help but embrace, no matter how dangerous it was. It was addicting, this loss of control. In these moments I always felt like I needed it, even though I was usually perfectly fine without it. The bodies fell around me like believers witnessing their god in person, falling to their knees in praise, but I was more an angel of death.

I don't usually remember what happens in the heat of the moment, how I swung my scimitar this way, or the look in this orc's eyes as I ran him through. It might be a defense mechanism, a way of blocking all the death, but I tend to never remember and black out from exhaustion right after coming down from the high.

So I woke up later, unsure of how much time had passed, and surrounded by a sea of dead bodies and orc blood.


	7. Don't Have Very Long

I tumbled into consciousness with all the force of a pebble tossed off of the Tower of Gondor, and the landing was just as painful.

My head throbbed, and I swore that I had never had such a pain just as I do upon my every awakening from bloodwrath.

"That's just great," my inner cynic sneered upon surveying my abandoned surroundings, lacking in any familiar face, " You go berserk and pass out for who knows how long and suddenly all your friends have left you! Psh, friends! How could you have thought that?" I dropped my head back onto the ground and tried to stop all thought processes, ones that I had already resigned to be more painful than my head. Already thinking that I was completely alone in the world again, after only a few moments of consciousness, I realized my head had dropped onto a pillow.

A pillow, or a surprisingly comfortable orc carcass.

A last gesture of kindness, perhaps? I tried once again to boot the negative ideas from my mind, but they stuck. I suppose they would have been less painful than false hope, anyway. I was just programmed to expect the worse after all that had happened to me.

Elf footsteps, three feet away. A flutter of hope, in the middle of my heart. A hand, pressing softly against my cheek.

I opened my eyes again to meet Legolas's, a mere five inches from mine. It was bizarre of me to think that he had left, especially after staring into those eyes.

"Good morning," he smiled, but it was strained. Reality came striding back to me, Aragorn on its wake.

"We must move," he snapped, irritated. I didn't understand his haste, of course having no grasp on the situation at hand, and mistook it as irritation with my delay of sleep. My suspicions I considered confirmed when he roughly grabbed my arm and hoisted me to my feet. "Now."

I crossed my arms defensively, shaking off Legolas's hand on my shoulder, and glared at Aragorn. "Do not rush me. It was not I that decided to waste your precious time with me."

"What? What is she saying?" Aragorn glanced at Legolas, too bewildered to confront me again.

"I'm saying that you should have just left me, if your time is that important!" Suddenly the words came out in a gush, all the doubt that had so far been my day overflowing into a verbal flood. "Why is it that you pity me so that you stick around just to leave me? What do you intend to do, hm? String me along on this little game until you've sickened of me and then toss me aside like the sour rind of a once-sweet fruit?"

Now both man and elf were bewildered. "Laira, calm down," Legolas urged.

"Is she always this emotional after waking from one of her trances?" Gimli's voice came gruffly chiming into the conversation, a hint of laughter in it. I didn't understand his humor.

Aragorn's eyes had softened when I looked back at him. They were not soft like Legolas's, whose were tender and careful, but soft in understanding. "It is alright, Laira. We're not leaving you, nor do we have some heinous plot to abandon you down the road."I just stared at him, wanting to believe, but not letting myself. How could they want to be near me, after seeing what I truly was? I had had enough experience in my long life, in fact, every experience I had ever had had taught me that those who knew what I was capable of usually wanted no less than three thousand miles between us. Why should they be different? Just because Gimli makes me laugh, because Aragorn looks to carry all the wisdom in the world, because when Legolas looks at me my heart warms?

"Why would we do such a thing?" Legolas asked.

"Because I'm a monster," I sad the words flatly, fact. "Because I'm dangerous to you."

"Hardly," Gimli snorted, "You're just the type we need with us."

"He's right. You're not dangerous, you're an asset," Aragorn agreed, "Having such a warrior with us will let me sleep a bit better at night."

"An ... an asset?" They _wanted_ me?

"Of course!" Aragorn practically boomed," I have never seen such fighting in my day! I may well be traveling with the best warrior in the land! You think I would let her slip through my fingers, just like that?"

Suddenly, my world was filled with sunshine, "Now, don't go filling my head with grand ideas like that," I grinned toothily. "So what are we waiting for? Let's go!"

* * *

The sunshine had rapidly faded after Legolas had briefed me while we ran. Merry and Pippin, the two innocent little hobbits, enduring unimaginable horrors with the orcs that had captured them. Boromir, Son of Gondor, dead. Frodo and Sam, the world's last hope, all alone on the run. And us, doing all we could. The run felt good, the fresh cool air clearing my mind, wiping it clean from the horrors of yesterday's fight. All we had to do was run. Tracking was easy, the Uruk-Hai left quite a scar on the country, and exerting ourselves as far as we could go seemed to ease the stress. Simply put, running was simple.

There was little opportunity for talk, which was fine with me. Legolas and I often ran together at the front, our eyes reaching farther than Aragorn's could. The plains over which we ran, the Plains of Rohan, I thought were beautiful in their simplicity, as was running. They were golden, and never entirely flat, with here and there rocky hills flowing out of the ground and mountains on the borders, dark sentinels standing over this simple land.

After a few days of running, we spotted woods on the horizon, a dark blemish rising above the golden plains. Rising above that was a dark plume of smoke, whose meaning we could not yet grasp.

"Fangorn," Aragorn informed me. A place I had never been.

We stopped for a rest, and I flopped onto my stomach, instantaneously dropping into a low-energy form of consciousness often called sleep by men. My companions I was unaware of, until I realized I was alone. Lifting my head slowly from the ground, I quickly and quietly assessed the atmosphere. Silence. Danger. I rose to a crouch, keeping behind the rocky outcrop that had provided shade for my nap. Peeking over the top of it, I beheld a very strange sight, what at first appeared to be a very large and spindly mound actually being a circle of horses, surrounding my three friends.

Unfriendly tones carried to me, and I readied my scimitars, just in case. The horsemen did not seem entirely happy to encounter strangers here and before I knew what was happening Legolas's bow was drawn and he was the object of twenty-five or so spears.

I jumped from my hiding place to the top of the outcrop, brandishing my scimitars menacingly. I figured it was about time a woman stepped in. "Now let's just simmer down a bit," I called to the men, stepping down off my rock. "There's no need for unfriendliness." And with that I put away my swords, having only drawn them to grab attention after I had deciphered the identities of the men. "We are no enemies of Rohan."

Aragorn nodded and tipped Legolas's bow down, and the horses made a path for me to reach my friends, but I stayed where I was, hoping they would keep the line of freedom open for possible escape. As they moved aside, I saw all breath a little easier.

"M'lady," a rider stepped forward, displaying the famous Rohan chivalry, "I apologize for any inconveniences I may have caused you, as we are simply shocked to find such a strange group of travelers in this land, and we did not know at first how to handle you."

"Nobody does," I smiled.

"What business have you here?" the rider asked, hiding now behind his chivalry.

Aragorn answered, "We are chasing down a horde of Uruk-Hai who captured two of our young friends. Perhaps you have seen them pass this way?

The rider was smiling suddenly, "I am afraid we beat you to the punch. We slaughtered and burned the Uruks this past night and have left none alive."

"None?" I choked, stunned.

"None," the rider was confused now, confused by our reaction. All four of our faces had gone white.

"Our friends, they would have looked like no more than children to your eyes," Aragorn stumbled over the words. The rider understood and a deep pain for us touched his eyes.

"I am sorry. We killed all that we saw. But you may go ahead and search the burnt remains for your companions. Truly, I am sorry. But do not stay longer than you need to in Rohan," he warned, and a shadow crossed his face," There is evil afoot here, infiltrated into the highest level of power."

"What do you mean?" Aragorn asked. Legolas and Gimli had left the circle to stand by me, Gimli's hand in mine and my head on Legolas's shoulder for moral comfort. Only Aragorn had the strength after the horrid news to continue in a normal way.

"We are the Riders of Rohan," the man announced, "the very best in protecting our land. I am Eomer, nephew of Theoden, king of Rohan. And my men and I have been banished."

Aragorn gasped slightly, "The Riders of Rohan, banished? How is this possible?'

"Corruption of the king," Eomer said, but not without a trace of deep emotion in his voice. "Saruman, the White Wizard, has the poisoned the mind of the king."

"We will tread carefully, brother Eomer. Thank you," Aragorn bowed slightly.

"But who are you?" Eomer asked suddenly.

"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and my companions are Gimli, son of Gloin, and Legolas and Laira from Mirkwood."

Eomer clasped Aragorn's hand at that moment, securing their brotherhood, "You and your companions are always welcome in my Rohan, Aragorn. May you find that so in other parts as well. As for your friends, I cannot express my condolences enough, but perhaps these horses will lessen your loss."

"And the owners?"

"Lost in battle. But it seems that our loss is your gain."

"Thank you," Aragorn nodded. We stepped forward to grasp the reins of three other horses, Gimli's head barely reaching the horse's flank, and his eyes widening in amazement. Had I been in the mood to chuckle, I certainly would have, but fear for Merry and Pippin dampened all my other emotions, and I found myself regretting that we would now reach the place of their doom even faster on horseback.


	8. Long Arm of the Law

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I just like to write about it.**

When we arrived at the edge of Fangorn Forest, I abandoned all hope.

Though inflicted with bloodwrath, I have never developed nerves of steel and the scene that so hideously greeted us had me on my knees, holding back my breakfast. Half-charred bodies laid piled on top of one another, and the thought of Merry and Pippin, buried somewhere beneath the stinking pile, had my eyes watering.

Aragorn took aim at an orc's helmet, kicking it with all his might and letting out a cry of failure, loss. I heard Gimli's blubbering in the distance and Legolas's voice raised in a mourning song. But all I could look at was the dead orcs, the ones on the edge only half-burned, they seemed to be reaching out from the darkness of the ashes, trying to escape the shadow that was cast on their fellows. Merry and Pippin. My little Careless. The nickname came back with a stab of pain.

I rose to my feet slowly, turning into Legolas's arms, embracing me. It was a horrible time for me to think how much I liked it, yet I did, a horrible time for me to yearn for more, yet I did. I buried my face in his shoulder and left it there, so I wouldn't have to look at the orcs.

Aragorn started saying something, his voice low and sad. I didn't want to listen. It hurt too much. My mind, disconnectedly, wondered how I had become so involved, so melded with these people's feelings, how their loss was suddenly mine. I guess it was just the companionship that I had for so long lacked, I didn't remember it as I used to, if I had indeed ever had companionship like this before.

Suddenly, Aragorn's voice was faster, staccato, excited. I glanced up at him as Legolas let go of me to follow him. He was scurrying on the ground, his eyes lit up by some unknown force. Aragorn was so strong, the strongest man I had ever met. He kept going in the face of tragedy, kept functioning.

Now he was running, Gimli and Legolas trailing behind him, both of their steps bouncy and hopeful.

"They're alive!" Aragorn crowed, his face for a moment so happy that it outshone the sun. He had somehow tracked the movement of the hobbits by indents in the grass and decided that they had escaped the battle. Impossible. I could not even bring myself to consider the scenario Aragorn had suggested, even as he and the others dashed into the forest, following his insane idea. They were dead, and it hurt, but I saw no use in resurrecting hope. And I dashed after them, calling to them, telling them they were ridiculous.

Legolas turned back to smile at me, "They're alive," he repeated.

"Impossible."

"But they are. We tracked them away from the battle, into the forest!"

"That could have been anything!" I exasperated.

"A hobbit's footprint is not easily mistaken," Legolas was frowning now, perhaps realizing the wild goose chase he was on. "Why do you not believe?" Or maybe not.

I shrugged, moodily.

"They're alive, Laira! Be joyous!"

"Not quite yet, my elf friend," Aragorn called from ahead, "Fangorn is a dangerous place. We have yet to find them. But they are alive, Laira, I can assure you that."

"Or they were last night," I grumbled. All three turned to look at me, fearful again. Whoops. I should've kept my doubts to myself.

"Right," Aragorn said, sobered. And then without another word he turned on the trail again. Legolas stared sadly at me for another moment. He was about to say something, but I pushed past him, and I could read on his face that he was saving his remark for later. Great.

We hadn't gone far until Aragorn's trail turned cold. A chill ran down my spine. I didn't like Fangorn. It was dark, ominous. All of us were feeling the edginess, the tension in the air.

"The trees are angry," Legolas said, his voice trancelike.

"Gimli," Aragorn whipsered, "Lower your axe."

A tingling spread from the nape of my neck to my toes. Sixth sense, my intuition, told me someone was behind us. I quickly and quietly jumped onto a tree branch and climbed until I was directly over my friends.

"The White Wizard approaches," Legolas said softly. In unison, my companions whipped around, Legolas shooting off an arrow, Gimli chucking his axe, and Aragorn drawing his sword. I held my position. The arrow and sword were knocked away by some invisible force, and with a yelp of pain Aragorn dropped his sword. A white light blinded us, hid the intruder from our eyes. Hidden by broad daylight, what a wizard thing to do.

"You are tracking two young hobbits," a deep, booming voice said.

"Where are they?" Aragorn asked. I didn't know if the wizard was intending to put a spell on us, or if he had already. But I figured now his defenses were probably down, whatever had deflected the other weapons, so I leapt silently from my branch, my scimitars pointed at the center of the light

For a moment, I was airborn, and then I hit the same wall the others had. I crumpled to the ground, coughing, trying to get my breath back. I rolled to my knees, glaring at the lighted figure. I had the feeling it was "tsk-tsk"ing me.

"Who are you?' Aragorn demanded. He was under no spell.

The white light faded, and out of it stepped an old friend. My jaw fell open so much that I was surprised it didn't hit the forest floor. For the second time that day, the only thing I could think was: Impossible.

"Gandalf," Aragorn choked.

"Yes, Gandalf the Grey," he smiled slightly, as if musing over some humorous forgotten memory, "That was my name. Now, I am Gandalf the White."

Before I knew what was happening, I was sprinting at Gandalf, hugging him.

"Ah, our little mystery elf. I had hoped you would have been of some use on this journey." I could tell by the sparkle in his beautiful blue eyes that he was joking.

"More than a little," Aragorn commented.

"Gandalf," I repeated, "Gandalf. You're back."

"Yes, I'm aware of that," he smiled again, "But now we have work to do. We must ride to Edoras, home of the Rohirrim, and rid it of the evil that has sprung there."

As we rode towards Edoras, Legolas drew his horse by mine and called to me," Have we taught you yet to hope, cynical one?"

I grinned at him, "Not yet, miracle man!" He shook his head at me, but I saw the smile on his face.

"We will, before this journey is over!"

* * *

I had never been to Edoras, either, having only once crossed to the other side of the Misty Mountains to visit Lothlorien all those years ago. I hoped that it would be a better experience than Fangorn, but as we entered the city perched on a hill, the streets seemed dead.

"Watch what you say," Gangalf warned," The city is wound up to a breaking point with tension. Do not look for much welcome here."

I saw faces peeking out from houses or from around corners, staring with dead eyes at us.

"I will not find my hope here, either," I whispered to Legolas. He didn't respond. The king's hall sat on the highest point, and we climbed many stone steps to reach it. With each step, I dreaded it more. There was an aura of evil about the place, almost a tangible one. And the fact that it had once been steeped in glory made it all the worse.

Two guards blocked our entrance to the hall.

"Remove all weapons!" they commanded, but I could hear the false bravado in their voices.

We obliged, hesitantly and only after Gandalf relinquished his sword. I almost considered waiting outside rather than giving up my scimitars, but I sucked it up. I saw Gimli give the same longing glance to his axe.

"And the staff, wizard!" one of them screeched.

Gangalf scoffed, 'Will you not let an old man use his walking stick?" He cradled it to his chest.

The guards glanced at each other, unsure, but let us pass.

Inside the grand hall, a withered old man sat atop a thrown, and a dark shadow sat at his side. I gaped at the man, presumably the king. I found myself wondering if the old derelict was even really alive, and the last time someone had checked to make sure.

"The courtesy of your hall is lessened of late, King Theoden," Gandalf surmised, his voice smooth.

The shadow whispered something, and then the old man croaked, "Why should I welcome you, Gandalf?"

The shadow stepped forward to reveal a pasty little man, who hissed, "A just question, my king. The hour is late, trickster, and you travel with a most unusual band."

Silent!" Gandalf boomed, tapping the end of his staff on the floor, 'It is not you I have come to speak with, Grima Wormtongue!"

"The staff!" Grima squeaked, turning frantically to the guards, "I told you to take his staff!"

The guards rushed us, half-heartedly. In no time at all we had taken them out, as Gandalf approached the thrown and the old man it held.

"Theoden, King of Rohan, too long have you been poisoned by the shadow. I will save you." Gimli squatted on Grima, holding him in place as Gandalf came face to face with the king.

When the king's voice yet again sounded, it was as if another voice was speaking through him, a stronger voice.

"You cannot do that, Gandalf the Grey," Theodon cackled. Gandalf threw back his cloak, revealing the white one underneath. He was glowing with fury. A lady rushed to help the king, who had shrunk back in his thrown, but Aragorn wrapped his arms around her.

I didn't understand what was happening. Gandalf was calling the king Saruman now, bandying words with an entity that wasn't present. These things were over my head.

Gandalf raised his staff, calling out mystic words, and slammed on the ground. The king shuddered, and I thought he was going to be torn in half by the dueling powers within him. And then he slumped forward.

No one in the hall moved. Except for Grima, who attempted to squirm out from under Gimli.

As the king slowly sat back up, I witnessed the third miracle of the day. No longer was he a decrepit old man, but a straight-backed, handsome king. His jaw and cheekbones were strong, his eyes bright. Now, I believed he was a king. Gandalf dropped to one knee.

"King Theodon. Welcome back."

"Thank you, Gandalf, for freeing me," the man smiled, and then called for his sword. The lady that Aragorn had been holding back ran to the man, kissed his cheek in joy. As soon as the sword was in his hand, his strength returned. He strode from his thrown, grabbing Grima Wormtongue by the collar of his shirt and striding him towards the door.

Throwing him out on the steps, Theodon said, "If I ever see your miserable face again, Grima, I will not hesitate to cut it off. Go."

I watched all this, the king getting news of his son's death and Aragorn telling him our tale, as a stander-by. Legolas, Gimli, and I stood off in the shadows, letting the kings, the important people, discuss things. We were no longer lonely questers on a desperate mission, and I began to really feel that all this was bigger than me. Everything had been radically changed, and I now had no idea where I stood in the tale.

**A/N: Reviews? I know it's been half of forever since I updated, but I hope some people out there are still interested in my story. Let me know.**


	9. Renegade Who had It Made

We had been reunited with Gandalf for only a few short hours, and then he was gone again, like ray of sunshine on a cloudy winter day. Théoden needed his Riders back, and Gandalf had volunteered to retrieve them, with the promise that a few days would see his return.

I was uncomfortable around Théoden, as I am around anyone with political power. I tend to find them incredibly hard to trust.

But Théoden seemed like a genuine, though stressed, man. There were times I saw a great smile break through his usually cold and grave-eyed features. Mostly, it was when Eowyn walked in the room. His beautiful niece treated him with the most love and devotion I have ever seen. A few months ago, it would have sickened me, but let's be honest, now, my future could hold something like that in store.

I am no fool in the "ways of love", only slightly unpracticed. For example, it was becoming increasingly obvious that when Legolas held my gaze for a few seconds too long, or when he found little excuses to touch me, that there was an attraction between us. And also, that I had no idea what to do about it.

We had a lot of down time these days, a lot being a few hours and these days being the past night we had spent in Edoras, but hey, after a few weeks on the lam this was a big vacation. And so Legolas and I strolled around the city, smiling great smiles of hope at the people, amazing them with our general elfishness. It wasn't a bad gig. Gimli spent most of his time, well, to be blunt, drunk. He hadn't had the opportunity for a drink in quite a while and since technically we were "off duty" until someone figured out what to do next, Gimli had apparently decided to cram all the mead he had been missing out on into last night, and we had heard neither hide nor beard of him this morning. And so that left Legolas and me to strolling.

We chatted idly, and he guided me around Edoras with his hand on the small of my back, leading me along (remember what I said about those touches?). Legolas has this incredible ability to erase awkwardness, at least with me, and he was so easy to talk to. There were countless times I almost let something slip; countless times I almost ruined everything.

"Laira?" Legolas popped his head into my doorway, beckoning me for an afternoon walk. I hopped up from the floor, where I had been stretching my muscles, and smiled at him. Legolas, however, had come farther into my room than I had expected, so when I jumped to my feet, I was a lot closer to him than intended. Closer than intended, but not close enough.

I shook the thought from my head and took a step back. He smiled understandingly and took my hand. I gasped; he usually never outright touched me like this.

"I think I know how you're feeling, Laira," he began. And then damn Gimli stumbled into the room.

"We're needed in the hall," he grumbled. I have never wanted to rip someone's head off more, at least not while normal. I shoved past him, giving him a little more elbow than was necessary.

"What flew up her skirt and stung 'er in the arse?" Gimli asked Legolas, stunned. Legolas just shrugged and grinned.

Aragorn and Théoden were waiting for us, with a grave-eyed Eowyn beside them.

"We need to evacuate Edoras and leave for Helm's Deep," Aragorn informed us, "Tell everyone to be ready to depart by morning's first light."

I groaned inwardly. So much for some down time.

We spent the next few hours assisting the villagers, packing carts and weapons and generally getting ready for tomorrow. The townspeople accepted the defensive maneuver as the start of war, and each one was mentally preparing for the next few days. It seemed as though in Rohan grave-eyed people sprang from the ground.

After we finished and people were catching the last shut-eye they might get in their beds, Legolas walked me back to my room.

We were standing outside my door, bathed in starlight, neither wanting to depart.

"Earlier," Legolas began again, "what I wanted to say-"

I didn't let him finish. I threw my arms around his neck, pulling my face to his. When I released him, he gasped, shocked.

"Not exactly the way I planned," he muttered to himself, smiling softly at me. Uncertainty crippled me for a moment, and I couldn't move until he brought his lips to mine again, caressing them together.

"You feel the same way, then?" I asked when we finished, shuffling my feet.

"Yes," he said simply, pulling my chin up again to gaze into my eyes.

"Why?" The question really was burning me up.

"I don't need a reason, other than the fact that I do."

"Fair enough. But you don't even know me."

"I intend to," he grinned, slightly roguish. I was kind of shocked that Legolas, gentle Legolas, could even arch his eyebrows in that manner, and suddenly I knew that I also would like to get to know him a bit more. A lot more. Right now. When I kissed him again, there was more urgency in it, more want.

I yanked open the door to my room, dragging him inside and the moment the door shut on us kissing him again and again.

"Laira," he gently pushed me away, his hands on my shoulders. I kept reaching for him. "Laira," he laughed slightly, "Settle down. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to … rile you up like this. I only wanted you to know that … that I think I'm in love with you."

The words were like an electric shock to my body, jolting it forward into him, craving him more.

"I'm not finished," he said, resisting me still.

"How can you not be?" I growled through my teeth. Didn't he want me like I wanted him?

"Because I don't want this to happen like this."

"What?" I was bewildered. Unpracticed. I slumped.

"You mean too much to me, and so I want to do things right. There is time for this later," he stroked my cheek with his hand.

I straightened and looked him in the eye firmly, "No, there's not. This could be the last night we're together. I mean, we're in the middle of the war to end all wars, for god's sake, and you want to wait?"

The words hit home, and his eyes widened, "I never thought about that."

And so I kissed him again, slower this time, and he did not resist. This time, he felt the urgency, and it was his frantic hands that pulled off my clothing and laid me on the bed.

He did not pause for a single breath when he saw the physical symbol of my secret, my great foolishness, lying on my bare chest, he simply kept going, pushing the boundaries of our newfound love farther and farther. Needing no sleep, we had the rest of the night to ourselves, and we filled it completely until only a few hours before dawn.

And then, feeling compelled but not pressured, I told him everything.


	10. They Finally Found Me

Trekking once more across the Plains of Rohan, I was understandably in a better mood. Some children, not one of them having seen an elf before, could not get enough of Legolas and me. They hung all about us, and I frequently indulged in games with them. Our little section of the march was one uplifted by the simplicity and joy of children, but as ever the thought of war loomed, threatening to destroy the innocence surrounding us. My body may have been created to be a destroying force, but I cannot help but feel that my soul was made gentle.

Aragorn meandered over by us quite often, and I think personally it was to escape his little admirer, or perhaps just to moan about it to Legolas. At one point, I looked over and saw Legolas transfixed by the necklace around Aragorn's neck, and I panicked, wondering what they were saying. I hurried over just to find that Eowyn had also noticed the charm and had asked about its actual owner. Relief.

Later in the day, a scout rode back to us, shouting of an ambush ahead.

Legolas squeezed my hand, "Are you ready?"

I nodded, glancing at the children once more.

"Don't worry," he smiled and quickly pecked my cheek. I'm not sure that anyone saw, thankfully.

I mounted my horse, succumbing quickly.

There was no great need, though. The orcs were few, just a scouting party, but one that wouldn't deliver its messages. We slaughtered them fairly quickly, and without a casualty, or so I thought. Within a few minutes of the battle, the Bloodwrath was gone, and dread filled my stomach. Aragorn was gone. Not dead, he will never be dead, but gone.

Legolas was crying softly, clutching Aragorn's necklace, Arwen's necklace, in his hand. He handed it me, wordlessly, like I had some claim to it. I squeezed it in my palm, refusing to let go of him. Not him. Anyone but him.

"They said he fell off the cliff, that he was dragged off …" Legolas muttered.

"Go on without me," I turned to Legolas, my eyes on fire. His resounding "no" was burnt to ashes in their gaze. "I'll be there before Gandalf."

Legolas nodded, and, with Gimli at his side, reached in and kissed me full on the lips. Part of me was glad that I wouldn't have to do the explaining now. "Good-bye," he murmured, unwilling to let go of my hair.

We parted, and as they rode away I sighed and lay down in the tall, bloodstained grass. Aragorn wasn't dead, I could feel it; I could feel his life pulsating through his necklace, still clenched in my hand, but to find him would take more than that. It wasn't something I wanted to do, but the rushing river below could have already carried him far. As I lay there, the sun beating down on my face, I traveled to a shaded forest, to the bedside of a waning life. A waning life, connected to the waning life I needed to find. My mind was suddenly one with the Evenstar.

"Where is he?" I thought. I knew she could hear.

"Hello," I felt her smile, as though at an old acquaintance. Was she delirious?

"Please, we need him. You have to tell me where he is. You are bonded with him, inseparably a part of him. You know. Where is he?"

"He is alive … but barely. Ten kilometers from you, washed up on the shore. His horse has found him. I shall go to him now, with you," she replied.

She wanted to stick around in my mind? The thought left a distasteful tinge in my mind, which she also felt.

"If you wish. I could help heal him."

"That would distract me too much, I'm sorry … but, if you can …" I trailed off, unsure of how to finish.

"Yes?"

"Don't tell him."

She smiled again, "I will try not to. Now, haste. I have faith in you, little Aria." And then she was gone.

Aria. My name. Short. I had forgotten how much I had actually liked it, because it was so short, so un-elfish. But that was what my mother wanted. When I opened my eyes again, it was dark. I groaned. I hadn't intended that to take that long.

Finding Aragorn was relatively easy after I gave up maneuvering my horse down to the river and just let him go, hoping he would find his way somewhere. Aragorn had his horse. I pulled him out of the water, replaced his necklace, and covered him with a blanket, waiting until morning to get underway. I figured we couldn't have been more than an hour's ride from Helm's Deep.

When he awoke in the morning, he didn't say a word to me about anything, other than a thank you, though I knew Arwen had been to him.

We arrived in Helm's Deep in the early afternoon, amidst much cheering. And it multiplied quickly.

Horns outside the gates announced much-need allies, elves from all parts of the elfish world. I pulled my hand from Legolas's and ducked out of the way quickly. And oh the pain I felt. The pain. The sheer pain at seeing him run to his brothers, clasp hands, smile, laugh, the look in his eyes as he turned around, fitting his shoulders into their rank. The pain that I would never share that with him, that he would always be a part of a different world, no matter how we tried to change that. Suddenly, I lost all inhibitions. I stepped from the little cranny I had backed into, straight and tall I walked out in front of them and turned to face them squarely. Legolas smiled at me, happy and oblivious as a puppy, and they glared. At least, the ones who knew me glared. And two of them knew me very, very well.

They stepped forward, pitiful little clones of their father, of our father.

"Still alive? No one foresaw that," one muttered to the other.

"Foresee this," I grunted, punching him square in the nose. He gasped, and the other grabbed his sword.

I held my hands in front of me, but the glare never left my eyes nor theirs as I spoke, "That was only for his own insolence. I am completely in control." They eyed me warily still, and I turned to the one with watering eyes, "I thought certainly I would get a warmer welcome after so many years. Or are you still cross about those few fingers I broke all those years ago, Elrohir?"

**Author's note - Hello, readers. I know it's been a terribly long time since I updated, and I sincerely hope that there is some interest in my story still. Please show your interest if any remains :)**


	11. The Battle Of Evermore

**Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own any of the characters or settings in this story, except for the one I made up.**

Elrohir and Elladan, my two distant older brothers. I was slightly surprised I even recognized them. They had been so little a part of my former life; they were not even present at my hearing or exile. The only family member I could still consider family was my sister, my dying sister.

"My apologies," Elrohir muttered, straightening his back, "I was being childish."

Yet the glares still presided over their faces. I returned them, my face morphing into stone, and I turned and sped away before I was forced to face my past even more. Legolas broke his rank and followed me.

"Wait, Laira!" he called, catching me, grabbing my hand to tether me down.

"I have to leave," I said sullenly.

"You cannot," he replied smoothly, coolly, sure I would listen. Like a lame duck, I laid my head on his shoulder.

"I know."

He ran his fingers through my short hair, his breath sending the wisps dancing along my forehead.

"I have not overstepped my boundaries; I have not broken the terms of my exile; there is nothing they can do to me," I said resolutely. Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn, they were worth the pain of facing my past.

Avoidance was key, and I consider myself a master. Not that I was sitting around in idle boredom over the course of the day. There was a battle to prepare for, and I found myself locked in the armory, handing out swords, mail shirts, shields to any man who could hold them, young or old. The hopeless eyes passed by me in an endless line, but not one of those eyes was the eye of a coward. These were people, man at his finest hour. Not overwhelmingly, blindingly brave men who charged on white horses into battle, thinking only of stinking glory, but men who knew what they had to do, knew what they had to protect, knew what the end looked like, without a shadow of a doubt, and yet still faced it head on. They were scared, frightened out of their very minds, and here they were, grasping swords they could barely hold to fight an evil they had not the minds to comprehend.

What it was that drove these men on, I could never say. I have no fear of death, because the only time I encounter it is when I wear the mantle of Death himself. But these men did, and I could see it. Why did they not run, save themselves from the ultimate end? I could see no excessive pride in their slumping shoulders, no pride for homeland or king. There were a few of those, and I knew they were most likely going to be among the first killed, charging foolishly out on their proverbial white horses. No, it was not pride I saw in them.

During that day, however, I found hope in the hopeless men. I know not the roots of it, and I do not fully understand it, but there is something to be said for men that are usually trampled over like bugs during a battle, the men that know they will be and pick up a sword anyway. Not all of us can be like Aragorn or King Theoden, great leaders against the evils of the world, and the universe will not cry when we die, but it was enough for me to see that those men simply picked up their swords in spite of it.

Not long after our Elfish allies arrived, the Uruk-Hai did. It was dusk, and standing at the front of the battlements, looking out onto the valley, we waited and watched their coming with shaky hearts and shakier arms. There was a moment of tender lightheartedness as Legolas, Gimli, and I stood in the ranks of Rohan's people. I smiled at my friends and hoped against hope that this was not the last time I was to see them.

Legolas and I had already had a farewell of sorts; about an hour we spent lovemaking before we were called to arms. It might have been a foolish way to spend an hour that had an encroaching battle on its tail end, but we needed each other at that time more than ever.

And now we stood next to each other, calmly awaiting the fight. I smiled slightly at him when he glanced at me, and he wound his eyes around mine for a moment. I wanted to whisper some matronly blessing, some "be safe, my love", to him, but I knew it would be foolish.

The orcs started stomping their feet down in the valley, filling it with such a rumbling that I thought Doom himself was rising from the earth. In fear, an old man let fly an arrow, drawing the first blood of the Battle of Helm's Deep.

After the anticipation that built up, the start of the fight was like the tiny crack that causes a dam to explode. There was nothing for me to do now but exhaust my arrow supply; I had no business going into Bloodwrath in the midst of so many of my own. Ladders started flying up from the gloom, and when one landed closest to me, I hopped on top of it before the others could push it away, flying down the ladder with my scimitars leading the charge, Bloodwrath blinding me.

I felt the zing of an arrow as it pierced my shoulder, the slash of a sword as its steely blade bit into me, and I buried the pain. All that mattered was the next kill. The hours blurred past. I needed no rest in this state, no nourishment. As my companions fought to keep the enemy out of the hold, I was down at the bottom of the valley, my back pressed against the stone, letting them come to me.

At one point, they stopped charging me, and I raced back up a ladder that still stood against the battlements. At the top, men scattered away from me faster than the orcs did, but I knew there was no enemy here. The Bloodwrath was subsiding for a moment, but I had yet to feel the draining of energy that came with the end. I was living in a rosy pink world rather than a blood red one.

I found Aragorn and Theoden, planning one last desperate charge against the horde. My brothers were with them, as were Gimli and Legolas, much to my joy. But they all kept a wide circumference from my blood-soaked self.

"Would you like to lead the charge?" Aragorn asked, wanting me in front rather than behind. I grinned devilishly.

"Of course."

"I bet she has racked up more kills than the both of us combined," muttered Gimli to Legolas, who nodded.

"Are you fair? You look horrible," Legolas said, approaching me and taking my hand. Even I was unsure of my control at the moment, and so I cannot imagine what fear the others had for Legolas, but he had none.

"I am fine," I said, pulling away to a nice cautious distance.

As we opened the gates, I am not sure who unleashed upon whom, but I think the attack was in our favor. Once again, I was lost to the swirling of swords and death.

As we fought upon that ledge, the sun showed her face on the bloody field. And with the arrival of the sun were Gandalf and the Riders of Rohan, as promised. They came soaring down the hillside, saviors, and even through the red I saw a saving white light.

The battle was over; we had miraculously prevailed. It took not more than a minute for me to crash, and I think perhaps the most unbelievable part of the battle, in fact, I am not sure still if it was a dream or not, was Elrohir pulling me into a hug as I sagged to the ground and whispering, "My sister, Aria, you have proven yourself tonight."

**Author's note – I misspelled the name Aria in the last chapter. I had it in my mind, so I'm not sure why I didn't type it like that, but I was looking over the chapter and noticed it and changed it. Sorry, again. Also, I deviated from using the lyrics of the Styx song" Renegade" for my chapter titles, because the Led Zeppelin song "the Battle of Evermore" is just so much more perfect. I might change them all now.**


	12. On the Road Again

**Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings.**

My recovery from the Battle of Helm's Deep was longer than usual. I had sustained many minor injuries, and one major. A sword had found its way to my ribcage, a deep slash indeed. It certainly wasn't fatal, but I was in my Bloodwrath-induced coma for the worst part of it.

The moment my eyes opened, Legolas's face filled my vision. Stress, fear, worry, relief; all were fighting for the dominant emotion on his face. Relief won over as I smiled weakly at him.

I started to sit up, and immediately he pressed me gently back down.

"You should not move. You've been … asleep for a whole day," he murmured.

"I'm fine," I said, straining against his arm to sit up. He shook his head sadly. "No, Legolas, I am alright." I reached under my shirt to start pulling the bandages away. He gasped and with renewed vigor tried to stifle my action.

"Legolas!" I snapped. He backed off, worry reigning once more. I pulled the last of the bandage away, tenderly poking the bulky scab. I showed him, and his mouth dropped open. "The long sleep, it's like a healing period. My blood is still flowing extremely fast from the Bloodwrath, and the faster it goes, the faster I heal."

"Your heart was beating abnormally fast. It worried me even more," he acknowledged.

"I'm alright," I repeated, "I can live through anything short of my head getting cut off, really. Where are we?"

"Edoras," Legolas replied. I was in a small, dark room. I laboriously rose from my bed, my muscles sore and my side stiff. "You have missed quite a lot. After we finished at Helm's Deep, we rode to Isengard to confront Saruman," he explained as we walked down a hall, "But our business there was short. Nature had aided us."

I glanced curiously at him, and he laughed, full of relief, "Ents, tree people, had destroyed Isengard, or rather restored it. Saruman's destruction of the forest had angered them. And …"

As we walked out of the house and the sun hit my face, I heard two little bickering, laughing voices, and then two sets of pattering feet running towards me from behind.

"We found what we were looking for," Legolas spun me around, and Merry and Pippin all but jumped on me. Legolas fended them off with his arm.

"Laira! You missed the best party last night!" Merry grinned, grabbing my hand.

"We heard you're royalty!" Pippin crowed, grabbing my other. "What shall we call you now, m'lady?"

"Not that," I laughed, "You can still call me Laira."

"Her name is Aria," Legolas answered them.

"That's pretty," Merry complimented, and then, I think knowing that I would hate, they both kissed my hands simultaneously and giggled.

"What happens now?" I asked of the world in general.

"We are going to Aragorn now to find out," Legolas said, leading me to Meduseld. As we strode through those once-daunting doors, a rush of well wishers came at me, Gimli at the foremost.

"My lady," he said gruffly, and I could almost see wetness through his hair.

"Don't call me that," I said meekly, but I don't think anyone heard. I was too happy at the moment; I felt so loved for what felt like the first time ever.

Aragorn came and wrapped me up in a hug, whispering "Sister" in my ear. Yes, I guess I would be.

Gandalf was next in line, and he smiled hugely. "Yes, yes," he rumbled happily, "I knew there was something about you from the moment I set eyes upon you in the darkness of Moria. Something in the face, I think. You rather resemble your sister, m'lady."

"Don't …" I began, but Theoden interrupted.

"I hear that I now host more of the family of Elrond than Elrond himself does. Welcome once more to my hall, m'lady. It is fortune that smiles upon your return."

"Oh … thanks," I smiled awkwardly. He nodded jovially and kissed my hand. I heard Legolas chuckle.

Elrohir and Elladan were next. If they thought this was going to be some warm family renewal session, they were wrong. I may have felt wrapped in a pink fuzzy bubble of love, but it popped as soon as I saw them. I nodded, not coldly, but sans any emotion at all.

"These past years …"Elladan began, but could not finish. Awkwardness was almost tangible.

"I am not your sister," I straightened my back, "only through blood. I am more related to Gimli than you." I paused. "But … I do not dwell upon harsh feelings any longer."

'We are thankful to see you healthy," Elrohir took my hand and kissed it. I shivered imperceptibly.

"Thank you."

"And now," Aragorn cut in, "I am afraid we must set our thoughts on darker things. I believe we should ride for Gondor. All of the enemy's purposes are on them now, and it will not be long 'til they are in dire need for assistance."

I snuck out of the hall, anxious to feel the sun permeate me and, more importantly, escape great speeches. I had had enough of this whole 'Lords and Ladies' business. It was not where I belonged.

As I sunned on the wide steps leading to Meduseld, Merry and Pippin joined me, each with a pipe. We laughed and exchanged stories; they asked me how I came to be exiled; I asked them what life in the Shire was like. Our jollity was short-lived, however. The important men came out of the hall quickly, Gandalf grabbing Pippin by his collar and leading him to the horse-stables. Merry followed.

"Gandalf and Pippin are going to ride to Gondor, hopefully to convince Denethor, the Steward, to light a beacon of help. And then, hopefully, Theoden will answer," Legolas informed me. "We have about two days until they arrive."

The days of rest flew by us, and before I knew it, we were riding to war again.


	13. This Will be the End Today

**Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings.**

I knew I was awake; at least, most of my senses registered in, except for my sight. A breeze tickled over my skin, and I could feel muted sunlight kissing my face. Scents frolicked in the air in and around my nostrils, teasing my mind to place them. There was a slight rustle in my ears, muted, as if someone was singing in a whisper ten feet away from where I lay on my back in what felt like some sort of soft vegetation.

I thought I had fallen asleep in a dingy, uncomfortable tent in the Rohirrim's Dunharrow, their gathering grounds, in the wee hours of the night, yet I felt that it was early morning, just after sunrise, and I definitely was not in a dingy tent.

After making all of these observations, I finally trusted my eyes to open.

I was in a garden, my garden. The lilacs, the gardenias, the freesias, the aromatic vines that draped from every tree, it all seemed exactly as I had left it. As I rose to my feet, I decided that I was most surely not awake, if seeing this hadn't convinced me already.

Draping off my body, resembling the vines in my garden, a light green elvish dress clothed me. I could feel the cold of my necklace on my bare chest. I looked to my left and saw, rising out of the forest, the beautiful white structures of Rivendell.

My feet led me instinctively to the one who had summoned me there, though they had not tread those corridors in more than one thousand of man's years.

She was resting on a large sitting couch, her skin smoky but her eyes bright. I dashed to her side with a cry.

"Arwen!"

"Ah, my little Moonshadow, you have answered my call," she smiled weakly, but even that little twitch of her lips seemed to multiply the beauty of our surroundings tenfold. I felt so … so barbaric in her presence, even dressed as I was. But I loved her more than anything, especially her nickname for me, one I hadn't realized my ears had been aching to hear.

She sat up, making room for me, but I opted for the ground. She started twirling her fingers through my hair, which was considerably longer than it had been when I joined the fellowship.

"Arwen …" I paused, unsure how to proceed. How nice it would have been to just sit there all eternity long, not feeling obligated to speak, but just being with her. But I was wiser than that. "… What ails you, sister?"

There was a faraway look in her eyes, and I feared for a moment she would not respond. But then her lips parted, and she said quietly, "The last ships for the West have left these shores." I stared blankly up at her, not understanding the significance. "And me on them. I have chosen to stay in Middle Earth, to become mortal."

The choice, at first, did not seem of any more significance to me than her comment about the ships had been, but I had never had to make the choice to stay here. I had been forced into it. As I realized what she gave up, I fell into a deeper silence.

She started toying with my necklace. I hardly noticed, until she commented, "I always knew you would keep this, if only to remember me."

"Of course," I muttered. She let it slip from her fingers, and I caught it before it hit my skin again. The metal was cold; she could not even manage to warm it with her body heat. She resumed playing with my hair.

I examined my necklace. She had insisted that her father make one for me, so that we would be alike. Mine was considerably different. The main part of the necklace was a round, smooth, black jet stone, maybe a half-inch in diameter, perhaps a bit more. The jet was set in mithril, which was just peeking out from behind it, the width of fingernail, a tiny sliver of silver surrounding the black. At various intervals, a strand of mithril would shoot away from the jet, like the tendril of a flame. At the top, a stem of jet and a stem of mithril curled around each other, pointing up, and connecting the entire thing to its chain. When he gave it to me, he told me it was the sun, eclipsed by the moon.

To this day, I am not sure what eclipsed what. I know what he saw. I know that he thought the Bloodwrath obscured my "real" gentle nature, but I spent many hours wondering whether or not it was the other way around.

"What have you brought me here for?" I asked, the thoughts of her father stirring up ancient anger.

"To see you; to speak to you; to be with you before you leave."

"Do you think we will die?" I asked quietly, like a child asking her mother if the monsters under her bed are real, though she thinks she's sure they are.

"I can only hope against it. But Moonshadow, my life … it is only for him that I stay here …" her voice trailed off.

"I will do whatever I can to protect him," I ventured, not sure what she wanted of me.

"Thank you," she muttered, "He does not even know of my situation."

"Then I must tell him!" I leapt to my feet, eager to help. If Aragorn knew his beloved was waiting for him, he would be all the more wise about his decisions. But really, I was anxious to get back to Dunharrow, though I love the company of my sister. I was uneasy in this place, impatient to escape it. And, again, though I love my sister, I am much better at loving her in a place I was less horrified of.

"Then go," she touched my forehead, and then my necklace, resting on my chest, "and remember always who you are."

My dingy, uncomfortable tent was just as I had left it, but I was altered. I flew out of the tent, almost knocking over Legolas and Gimli, who sat outside around a small fire.

"Aria (Legolas had taken to calling me that), for where do you make with such haste?"

"Aragorn! Where is he?"

"He has just departed to speak with Theoden," Legolas was smiling partially at my excitement, but I could not stand to linger and look at him, as I am often tempted to do. I sprinted off in the direction of Theoden's residence.

A guard tried to stop me, but I blew past him. I threw open the folds of the tent, bursting with zeal, "Aragorn! You'll never believe …………………………

* * *

I was choking, choking on the musty air in the tent, choking on my heart, recently relocated to my throat, choking on my past. A face … a face I never again wished to see … trembling … I was trembling with rage … but no red … just hate … fear … pain … betrayal ………… love. I wanted to disappear, be smote down instantly by the gods, abducted by aliens, spontaneously combust, anything. But I couldn't move.

"My daughter," Elrond whispered, his eyes crystallizing with tears, taking a small step towards me. My limbs, and my mouth, found their power once again.

"No."

"I had no idea," he muttered, "I have been blind to you for so long …" He inched another step closer.

"I wanted it that way."

"My Aria, I thought you were dead," he advanced, opening his arms as if to hug me. I shivered with disgust, coiling away from him. The twisted expression of my face stopped his movement. Suddenly, I was shouting.

"I AM NOT YOUR DAUGHTER!" Shouting, shaking, still no red. He started to move again. "STAY AWAY FROM ME!" I shrieked.

"Please," he was reasoning with me, using the same tone he would when I was in a childish fit of rage. I loathed him. "Calm" I loathed that word. "I am your father."

The words in fact inflated my rage, but my voice lowered, as I said, "No, you are not."

"Of course I am," he held his palms up, entreatingly.

"NO! You are not. You never were. No father would do this to his daughter. No father would send her out to die, alone. A father would love his daughter, no matter what she is, no matter if she is a monster. No father would do what YOU did! I have no father."

That last jab had pained him the most. His face contorted with grief. Scathing tears burned lines of dark red on my pale face, mocking my pain. I could not handle this passion.

"I had no choice," he pleaded softly, "The exile was overturned many years ago. We found Ulil's real killers, but at the time … there was no power I beheld that could have helped you. You can come home now, Aria."

"I have no home."

"But, my Aria, I love you …" I interrupted him, before he could finish.

"I can see past your lies now, Elrond."

With that, I turned and left the tent, racing to my horse. Legolas and Gimli were still seated around the fire. Legolas jumped at my arrival, but when I looked at his beautiful face, I could only see Elrond.

I leapt onto my horse, but Legoas grabbed the reins.

"Aria, what has happened? Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving."

"But … but where? We ride out tomorrow," he stammered.

"THIS IS NOT MY WAR! I WILL NOT DIE FOR THIS WORLD!" I yelled, snatching the reins from his hand.

I rode away from him, into the darkness, repelling the only companionship, the only love, I had ever felt.

I was destined to be alone.


	14. Coming Down from the Gallows

**Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Lord of the Rings.**

**A/N - Yes, I know, it's been forever since the last chapter. I will try my hardest to finish this story up as quickly as possible, that's a promise, so if the next chapter's not up within the week please start hounding me :) That being said, please enjoy the rest of it!**

My body ached from riding for hours, I do not know how long.

My mind was as numbed as my body, still coming to terms with what I had faced, what I had left. Miles ago I had wrenched the necklace from my neck, threw it wayside, determined never to let love, hope back into me again. I had stopped crying shortly after I left, refused my eyes to let more tears escape.

I was being a coward, I know that fully. But survival was all I had, all I ever had, and to survive is to numb one's self to the pains and the joys of life, to become a rock, an island.

"_And a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries"_

Those words, a song …

I alighted my horse; lay down in the sweet-smelling grass, my mind tunneling through itself to find the source …

A warm dark redness …

A soft, distant, elven voice, singing to me …

A soft rain began to patter on my face, gently urging me to place the song; I ignored it, concentrated on the voice. I knew it instinctively; way down inside I knew it. The only words I could hear it saying were those, as if it knew, that wonderful voice, that I would need them someday. My ears had never fully heard it, but rather, my entire body had soaked it in, that voice. Just as my body had soaked up her entire life force.

The rain twined with the tears that unmasked me. All of the guilt I had ever felt, all of the guilt I had placed on myself for my mother's death, it was all bare for my horse and the rain and the sweet-smelling grass to see. The immense responsibility I felt, I had never known how to handle it, pushing it on to my father, making myself believe that he _blamed _me for her death, hating him for it.

It, the hate, it never sprang from the exile. That had fueled it, greatly, but I hated him before then. I hated him for every time longing crept into his eyes when he looked at me, every time I thought he wished for her over me, every time I was sure he would give me up in a heartbeat to have her back.

But I was wrong.

The simple realization came with a heavy deluge of water, both from my eyes and from the sky. It was nobody's fault, not mine, not his, not hers. It was just this messy, crazy, hurtful, passionate, vehement, and unparalleled thing called life. She gave hers for me, undoubtedly she knew what she was in for, and here I was, wasting it, turning my back on her sacrifice. I was wronged, but more than anything I had wronged myself.

Elrond did love me, what little he had left of his beloved wife. But that is not why he loved me. I am not sure why he did, but I knew now why he did not, and that made a world a difference.

Riding as fast as my horse would go back to Dunharrow, I saw, sinking into the muddied earth, the black of my jet stone necklace. I stopped, scooped it out of the mud, stared at it, and threw it back again. I had never been this free before, not in all my years of solitude. I no longer needed it as some vestige of my father's love or hate for me, as a constant reminder of who I was.

When I came to Dunharrow, the storm was just clearing, the sun peering out from behind the massive clouds to see if it was safe. The ground was trampled in, cratered by the many hooves of the horses and the poles that had held the tents intact. It seemed as though the men who had already left to fight had left it all here, and the ground had soaked it in, all of the fear, leaving the earth pockmarked.

They were gone already. The windy plain was grey with emptiness. I had missed them.

Sucking in a few deep breaths of the grey empty air, I was about to turn around and run my already ragged horse even harder to catch the army, when my subconscious sparked, snapping at me for attention.

Elrond coming to visit Aragorn … he had a sword … the broken sword, remade … sword of the King …

My eyes strayed to the point where the mountains met the high plain of Dunharrow. I had heard the rumors also of these mountains, of the old wars and the people who had not fought. They were supposed to have been cursed by someone with the very same sword that Elrond had given, and then only the carrier, the King, could free them. An old wives tale, certainly, but were we just desperate enough? I made for the crack in the mountain.

This was plausibly the worst part of the world I have ever traveled. It was a crack in between the mountains, narrow and spooky. The wind whistled eerily through it; it was a forgotten place. Perhaps it was a form of karma that found me walking this path alone, and I accepted it as best as I could.

Finally, the mountains closed together again, leaving only a small opening with inscriptions written round it that I dared not read and skulls decorating the outside wall. I gagged. The horse would go no further, and as soon as I had stripped it of the reins and saddle, it sprinted away, faster than I would have thought possible for a horse that had run as much as it had.

I turned once more to the door, and swallowing my last breath of fresh air, walked in. There were torches hanging along a wall inside; I quickly grabbed one, lit it, and hurried forward. The winding path was leading down, small and thin it would into the mountain. Just as I was hoping that this was as bad as it would get, the path split open, and the gaping holes of tombs glared at me from the dark walls. If I had thought that outside in the forgotten crack was bad, this was tenfold worse. I was numbed with fear, my mind halted in any processes other than moving my feet forward and trying not to let these horrid scenes sink too deeply into my memory.

I pushed forward, and as I left the tomb room, the ground was no longer ground. Whatever I was walking on now cracked sinuously and with feet as fleet as an elf's could ever be I sprinted over it. Suddenly, I lost my footing and down I came crashing, amid the skeletons of hundreds of people that compromised the ground. I shrieked and for a moment wasn't sure if I could get up again. My dread-widened eyes locked with a skull's, grinning at me like skulls do, and, finding courage in it's mocking, I spit in it's left eye and jumped to my feet again.

Back on solid ground again I continued to run, not daring to slow and let my fear catch up with me. Silvery fog now covered the ground, and as I rushed through it, tendrils of the smoky matter seemed to grab at me, but I was too fast. I burst abruptly into a large chamber and was almost flung off an edge of a precipice by inertia. My torch tumbled down the dark hole, and what horrors it briefly illuminated I cannot repeat.

Luckily, I needed it no longer. The chamber was filled with a ghastly green light, and at the center, another torch.

"Legolas!" I cried. I had not even thought the name, not even seen his face in my mind before it was on my lips, then out in the air. It was like a knee-jerk reaction.

"Do not touch her!" Aragorn's deep voice commanded. Bewildered as to whom he was instructing, I started to wade through the phosphorescent green fog, when it became not fog at all. Broken faces, dead eyes formed all around me out of the fog. No, they were the fog. I threw up. My fear had finally caught up to me.

As I slowly wilted to the ground, I saw the fog, the spirits, part, and through them came my friends to my rescue, and I knew then just how far I would go for them, all the way into this death place, all the way over the precipice of my own death if I had to.


	15. So Far From My Home

We were soon out of that hell, and soon to be thrown into another. At the moment, we were sailing stolen pirate ships, trailed by a ghostly green mist, headed to the end of time as we knew it.

I stood at the prow, breathing deeply the air that was rushing past. I had never been on a ship, but the pull of the ocean is something as fundamental as grace in movement to every elf, no matter how un-elvish they may be. And I absolutely loved the feel of flying over the water, even though I believed the destination would make ghosts of us all.

Legolas came to stand next to me, setting his hand on mine. "What happened on your small excursion? You seem altered."

I mulled over the answer for a few moments, mainly because I was half-worried that 'altered' was a bad thing. I finally answered, "I put the past behind me, where it should always have been".

He smiled cryptically and I was about to inquire when he said, "And have we taught you to hope yet?"

My mind jumped back, to what was plausibly another lifetime. We were riding to Rohan, reunited with Gandalf, thundering joyously across the plains, and Legolas had asked the same question of me. Between then and now, I had found love and acceptance, and maybe even forgiveness. And those three things were more of a miracle than Gandalf coming back from the dead, more of a miracle than us winning this war. And while those times seemed full of peril and the threat of death, now I was sure that death was only hours away.

But I looked up at Legolas, and I saw in his eyes what he wanted, no, what he needed to hear. And I said, "Yes, my love, I believe you have." And I closed my eyes and kissed him so that he would not see through me.

I heard Gimli stomp over and then cough embarrassingly. Before he could squirm away, I whipped around and enclosed my hands on the sides of his face in an iron grip.

"Would you like a kiss also, Gimli?" I teased. He struggled maniacally in my grasp, but in the end I planted a firm one on his hairy cheek.

"Best not to act that way around the elf," Gimli grunted, blushing, "Or you two won't last very long after this war."

"That's not my plan," Legolas interjected, sliding an arm around my waist.

We laughed, and I once more caught myself before making a macabre comment about after this war. It seems I have also found sensitivity on this voyage.

We fell silent for the rest of the journey, each with our own thoughts, yet feeling more connected than ever. Horrible experiences, for whatever reason, have that effect on people.

Too soon, Osgiliath was spotted on the horizon. Too fast, the ship flew over the water. Too strong, my hand gripped Legolas's, unwilling to let go.

"All will be okay," he whispered as the ship pulled in to dock. We were crouched below the rail so that the enemies could not tell that there were no corsairs aboard this ship.

It was an easy battle; I did not even descend into Bloodwrath. Osgiliath was won back in a matter of minutes, and our ghastly tidal wave was soon sweeping across the countryside to Minas Tirith.

At this moment, I was not thinking of what had passed, nor of what was waiting in the future; I focused only on my feet, pounding against the ground. It seemed the simplest way.

We arrived at the carnage too late for my liking, for many lives had already been lost, but I suppose it was better than arriving any later. I looked around, Legolas taking down oliphants single-handedly, the ghosts of the mountain swarming like demon bees around any and all enemies, and I decided that my abilities were of no use.

Instead, I started picking through the corpses, looking for some far-off glint of life among the dead men and elves. The fighting was soon over after we arrived, and others joined my fruitless search.

After the battle, I had no interest in more talk of battles, and Legolas insisted on going to a counsel, so I spent my time with poor Merry in the infirmary.

And before I knew it, I was leaving the sweet-smelling place for yet another battle. I was more weary then than I have ever been, but this, they promised, was the end.

* * *

And here we are now, standing before the Gates of Hell.

And I watch as the people I love most ride towards them.

And I know that when we are inevitably attacked, I will have no other choice but to go out in a burst of flame, one last epic supernova, if only to show the world that I existed, that I mattered, that I was good for something.


	16. An End to my Running

I do not remember the charge, the final act of defiance on our part, although they tell me it was epic. By that time I had already submitted my memory to the ensuing bloodshed.

They tell me they had to drag me away, that I tried to chase down the orcs as they fled from the ruin of their leader. They tell me I almost killed some of my own.

No, there was no miraculous moment when Legolas rushed to me, and the very sight of him cut through the deep red that enveloped my world, like a lighthouse's signal on a foggy ocean night. Although that would be romantic, you cannot have romance without a touch of irrationality, and luckily that elf was no fool. No, he simply told everyone to stay far away and merely follow me, so that when I did collapse, they were there to take me back home.

No, I was not miraculously cured from the Bloodwrath after that final battle, like a ship that carried the elves of Middle Earth back to Valinor that, purpose served, was simply discarded. Although I sincerely hoped my fighting days were over.

But just like that, the war was finished. And I was free.

The days after the war consisted of some of the very best of my entire life. We were gloriously reunited with Frodo and Sam, whose sweet faces had left my mind during our wild chase across the Plains of Rohan. I had not realized how much I had missed them. Legolas told me it was a defense mechanism; none of us could have hoped that we would have ever seen these two faces again.

And then there was the crowning. It was a day of internal turmoil for me, for Aragorn insisted that I join the Elves' procession, yet …

I woke to find a silvery dress hung on my door, with beautiful mithril adornments. I contemplated it for a long time, the pure elven nature of the dress half-repulsing, half-intriguing me. I took the dress and held it up against my body, weighing it in the mirror. Legolas entered and leaned against the door, smiling.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Confused," I answered frankly.

"There is someone down the hall who has been patiently awaiting your awakening. It would not be wise to keep her waiting any longer." That irritatingly knowing smile crept across his face.

One name and one name only entered my mind, and I flew from my room, down the hall to her.

"Arwen," I choked. Tears rushed to my eyes unbidden.

She folded me into her arms, combing my hair with her fingers. This, this was the only home I had ever known.

"Shh," she whispered, "Today is a happy occasion, Moonshadow."

"I know," I whispered back, once more the little elf that had too soon left her childhood.

"You must prepare yourself, sister. Show them how beautiful our family is, together again. And you must give me away with Father during the ceremony."

Anyone else, and I may have punched them. I may have argued vehemently, stormed angrily away. But it was my dear sister. I nodded lamely.

Back behind the closed door of my room, however, I panicked. But there was Legolas, my rock, a different dress in his arms. The material was a deep red, crimson, a color that defined me more than any other. Silver lines delicately curled around the dipped waist and the long sleeves, bringing the dress to life. It was almost similar to the silver dress, for it too had an elven nature to it, yet it was inexplicably different.

"I thought this might suit you better," he explained, "And also this."

In his other hand lay a ring wrought of mithril made to look like flowers dancing in a circle. On the top there was a bright round gem, set in a the middle of flower petals. It was astoundingly elaborate, and yet with an air of simplicity.

"Your father has given us his blessings, along with this ring. It was your mother's," he spoke softly. Tears again overwhelmed my capacity for speech, and I rushed into his arms, my new home.

Legolas and I walked together to my father and sister, both gasping audibly at my choice of clothing. My sister was smiling, on the verge of laughter, and Elrond seemed only shocked. She came to me, kissed my cheeks and took my hands, leading me away from Legolas and to Elrond.

"What say you, Father?" she inquired.

His words stopped my beating heart. "I would expect nothing less. She is her mother's daughter." He held his arms out to me, and instead I put my hand, newly adorned with the betrothal ring, on top of his. I heard Arwen gasp behind us at the jewel and I turned to see her grasping Legolas's arm in joy. Elrond, accepting that I was not ready for hugging, entwined his fingers in mine.

The crowning, the procession, the feast all passed in a happy, warm blur.

Later that night, I wrapped a sheet around my bare body and left the warm comfort of Legolas and the bed, moving to stand on the balcony that jutted out from our room. I leaned against the rail, looked up at the bright stars twinkling over a free Middle Earth.

Legolas did not tarry to join me and question my behavior.

"What occupies such a beautiful mind?"

Not tearing my eyes from the stars, I said to him, "My life has been utterly overthrown, these past few days especially. It is hard to fathom that these same stars have looked down on me my entire life, when so much has changed."

"That is their duty," Legolas said simply, wrapping his arm around me, hand rubbing the cradle where a new life was soon to begin, "so that you can look back on them and perhaps realize how far you have come."


End file.
